When Harry Met Ginny
by Elvenlaughter
Summary: Ginny Weasley used to wish Harry Potter would come ride her off into the sunset. When her brother Ron writes home from his first year to say Harry Potter is his friend, Ginny sets out to discover if the real Harry matches up to the one she dreams about...


Written for a challenge on SIYE over a year ago. Thought I'd post it just for the heck of it and see what happened. The ending is very abrupt for some reason, but I'm not inclined to change it at this point.

Disclaimer: Not mine, all Jo's, except for the plot line.

* * *

When Harry Met Ginny

Ginny Weasley was sitting in her bedroom at the Burrow, staring out her window with wide, teary eyes. There were so many emotions flying around inside her that she swore she could feel their wings beating at her chest trying to get out. She pressed one hand to her jumper to keep them all inside, and stuck a finger in her mouth.

She knew she was too old to suck on her fingers, and she'd mostly broken the habit, but every now and then when there was a lot going on and she couldn't quite take it all in, the rogue appendage would sneak up and make itself comfortable in the warm wetness behind her lips. And there was certainly a lot going on right now.

It hadn't been long ago that they had been at King's Cross dropping off her brothers for another year at Hogwarts. How she wished she could join them! They always came back with such wonderful stories about a castle, and ghosts, and secret passages that lead into sweet shops, and games and books and lots of food… Ginny sighed. And now Ronnie was gone too. Ronnie was her closest brother, and she already missed him. She didn't know what she was going to do now, all alone in the house with Mummy and Daddy and the ghoul and the chickens… She didn't like the chickens. She had tried to do one of them a favor by sitting on her eggs for a while, and the biddy had pecked her very hard on the head until she was bleeding and had to run into the house for safety.

But it wasn't just the notion of only having chickens for playmates that made her want to be at school so desperately this year. Oh, no, it was so much more than that. She had met someone on the platform. Someone who she had been told stories about for as long as she could remember. Someone Fred and George told her would one day catch a dragon and ride it up to her window and take her away on it to have adventures. Someone she dreamed about every night. Someone who had green eyes and dark hair and a scar on his forehead the shape of a lightning bolt.

Ginny had met Harry Potter on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters today.

Only she hadn't really met him. She'd seen him, but she hadn't known who he was until he was already on the train, and she didn't get another chance to look at him. She wondered if he would smile at her and tell her she was pretty. Maybe he would send her chocolate and cards. Maybe he would buy her nice things, like the things Prissy Mayhew had. Or maybe he wouldn't even know she existed.

Ginny pulled her finger out of her mouth and swung her feet off the windowsill. They dangled a good two feet from the floor, and she hopped down carefully so as not to make much noise. Mummy didn't like it when she sat on the windowsill. Ginny shuffled across the floor and down the stairs to find her mother.

Molly Weasley was in the kitchen preparing lunch for two and worrying about her youngest son. It had been hard to let any of her boys go off, and up until now she would have said Bill was the most difficult because he was first, but she was arguing that now. Ron seemed younger than Bill had been when he left. He was more reserved than his older brothers, not flashy like the twins or particularly quirky like her other boys, but he was fiercely loyal, and very passionate about things. She just hoped he would find friends that would appreciate that about him. And she hoped Fred and George wouldn't be too hard on him.

Molly looked up as she heard the soft footfalls of her only daughter coming into the room. "Ginny, dear, I'd wondered where you'd gone off to!"

"My room," said Ginny, settling herself on a nearby chair.

"And what were you doing up there?" queried Molly.

"Thinking."

Molly smiled at the little girl, but Ginny did not smile back. "Is something the matter, Pet?" she asked, putting down her wooden spoon and coming to sit by Ginny.

"They're all gone now," came the quiet answer.

"Oh, I see," said Molly. "Yes, they are, dear. But they'll come back. You know they will, and in the meantime there is so much to do here! We have more lessons to do this year, and since it's just the two of us here at home all day I thought we could really have some fun. We can go on picnics, and visit the pond, and you have your home school group on Fridays, just like before."

"Will Prissy be there?"

"Yes, she will."

Ginny sighed. Prissy Mayhew was always so fine and had such beautiful clothes, and she would tease Ginny sometimes about her second hand things. The little redhead looked up at her mother. "Can I have a new dress this year?"

Molly smiled. "I'll see what we can do," she said, and for a moment Ginny forgot about castles and squids and ghosts and Harry Potter – but just for a moment.

Three weeks later they received a letter from Ron. Molly had been writing to him every week, but he had been so busy that he hadn't responded yet. He sent one letter to his parents, and a second special letter to Ginny. She ran excitedly to her room and ripped open the envelope.

The letter told her about the horrid potions teacher with greasy hair, and a nasty boy named Malfoy, and about his classes, but Ginny had eyes only for what Ron said about his friends.

_And would you believe Harry Potter is my best mate? I mean, I always thought he'd be huffy like Percy because he's Harry Potter and all, but did you know, he didn't know he was famous! I guess he lived with Muggles, and they didn't tell him. But he's a good bloke, a normal kid like me, and he likes quidditch, and he even got on the team, which means he's the youngest seeker in a century. I looked up who the youngest one was before him and it was this kid named…_

Ron didn't say anything else about Harry Potter, and Ginny was frustrated. What was he like, she wondered? Ron said he was a "good bloke," but what did that mean? Was he nice and friendly, or shy, or bold, or a troublemaker? Was he good in his classes? Ginny threw down the letter from Ron. Well, if he wouldn't tell her, then she'd find out for herself.

She picked up a quill and parchment from her desk and thought for a moment. What if he didn't like her writing to him? She shrugged off the thought. Everyone liked getting mail. She dipped her quill in the little inkpot her father had given her when she turned nine, and began to write.

The Great Hall was incredibly loud. Harry supposed it was because of all the owls swooping around and all the students reacting to them. He still wasn't used to this method of receiving letters, and he found it a bit disconcerting. Ron didn't seem to mind though. He was rescuing Errol from the plate of kippers as though the bird landed in his breakfast all the time, which, Harry surmised, he probably did. He knew by now that Ron never talked when he was reading his mail, so he turned to listen and see if there were any interesting conversations going on in the vicinity that he might be permitted to join.

Seamus was gesturing wildly to Dean as he described an unfortunate accident he'd witnessed the day before, much to the amusement of Dean, and everyone else within earshot.

"… and then he broke out in hives!" Seamus said, as Dean doubled over in paroxysms of laughter. "You should have seen the look on his face! He was scratching and rubbing, which of course just made it worse, and his eyes were as big as Hagrid's hands!"

Harry grinned at the image that phrase put in his mind. Just then he felt a tug on his sleeve and looked over at Ron. "What?"

"Erm, mysistersentyoualetter," said Ron very quickly.

"Come again?"

"My sister sent you a letter," repeated Ron, looking at him incredulously.

"Why'd she do that?" Harry asked, but Ron just shrugged. Harry was not used to getting mail. His first letter ever had been his Hogwarts acceptance letter, and since then he'd gotten nothing at all, simply because there was nobody to write to him. He took the wrinkled, slightly fishy parchment from Ron and opened it almost reverently. It was very short, he noted. Only a few lines, but it was a letter, and he read it over three times.

"What's it say?" asked Ron curiously. Even Hermione was looking on with interest, although they both ignored her.

Harry suddenly felt very protective. "It's to me, not you," he said. "I'm not telling you what she wrote."

Ron protested, but Harry held firm, and at last got up and left the table to find some privacy in his dorm. Once there, he read it aloud to Hedwig.

_To Harry Potter,_

_My name is Ginevra Molly Weasley and I am ten years old, but everybody calls me Ginny. I have six brothers. One of my brothers is Ron. You know him. Is it true that you're the youngest seeker in a century? And that you didn't know you were famous? Why? Is it true that you lived with Muggles? What was it like there? Please write back._

_Ginny_

Harry felt a little nonplussed. There were as many question marks as periods, and he felt a bit out of breath just reading it, but the letter was to him, and it was all his, and nobody else knew what was in it. It was like having a secret. He smiled and picked up a piece of parchment off the floor.

_Dear Ginny, _he wrote.

Ginny was ecstatic when she received Harry's letter, but she didn't tell her mum. For some reason she didn't want her to know. This was her secret. She curled up in her bed and unfolded the parchment to reveal the messy writing inside.

_Ginny,_

_Thanks for your letter. I don't get mail usually, so it was nice to get something. I guess Ron's told you about me. Nothing too bad, I hope! Yes, I'm the youngest seeker in a century, but I really shouldn't be. I got on the team by breaking rules. I wasn't supposed to be flying, but Malfoy just made me so mad! (Malfoy is a Slytherin, and he's really full of it.) And no, I didn't know I was famous until Hagrid showed up on my birthday and told me. The Muggles I live with told me there was no such thing as magic. They also told me other things that weren't true, but Hagrid explained it to me. There's a girl here who knows more about me than I do. Her name is Hermione, and she's really smart. The Muggles were pretty horrid to me. I never liked it there. I can count on one finger the number of times I'd had sweets before I came here._

_What about you? I mean, I've never had a brother, but you have six of them! What's it like living with such a big family?_

_From, Harry_

Ginny's face was beginning to sting because of the smile that was spreading from ear to ear. She jumped up and ran to her desk to reply immediately. She told him that Ron had said he was a good bloke, and his best mate. She told him she thought it was funny he'd gotten on the team because of Malfoy, and told him in confidence that sometimes she stole her brothers' brooms and flew around the orchard when nobody was watching. Then she sat back and thought for a moment.

_Who is Hagrid? _she wrote finally. And then, _having six brothers is fun. They are all really good to me, and I have fun with them. But sometimes it's hard because there's only one bathroom in the house and nine people, and sometimes Mum gets mad and yells because there are so many of us to make noise. It's different when they're all gone. The house is much quieter and Mum seems a little happier. I think it's because I don't make a lot of noise on my own. At least not very often. It's awful that the Muggles lied to you! And that you didn't get sweets! But how else was it living there?_

_Do you want to be quill-friends with me?_

_Write back!_

_From, Ginny._

She read over what she'd written and nodded in satisfaction. It was a very good letter. The beautiful white owl that had delivered Harry's note was waiting patiently on the windowsill for her reply. She watched it fly away with growing excitement. The days would be much nicer if she knew she had a quill-friend writing to her. She skipped down the stairs to the kitchen and nearly collided with her mum.

"Goodness, Ginny, do watch where you're going!" reprimanded Molly. Ginny apologized cheerfully and gave her mother a great hug around the middle. "And why such a good mood all of a sudden?" asked Molly.

Ginny nearly burst trying to keep herself from blurting out about the letters. "It's a secret, Mum!" she said finally. "I can't tell you!" And she continued on into the kitchen and helped herself to a sticky bun, thinking about Harry and wondering what the one sweet he'd been allowed had been.

October was a difficult month for Harry, because he was still so unsure of himself in the magical setting. Classes were all right, except for potions, and he had a good friend in Ron – the first friend he'd ever had, really – and that was new and exciting, but Harry still sometimes felt as though he was behind, not as far as academics, but just in basic wizarding knowledge. Some things that were so obvious to Ron still caught him by surprise, like the food just appearing on the tables in the great hall, or the ghosts popping out of the walls. He never mentioned his worries to Ron, but for some reason he found himself confiding in Ron's sister, and looking forward to her letters. Ginny and he had been writing back and forth for several weeks, and already Harry felt that he could trust her, and so he did. He told her things he had never told anyone else, such as his fear of small enclosed spaces that he'd developed because of his cupboard. Ron didn't even know there was a cupboard.

Ginny responded to Harry's descriptions of his miserable childhood with surprising maturity and wisdom, refraining from trying to give advice, but simply offering comfort in her own childlike way. _Fred and George locked me in the linens closet once because I told Mummy about a prank they were going to play,_ she told him. _I didn't even open that closet for another year! I knew it wasn't going to hurt me, but I didn't like it anyway._

_I can understand that,_ Harry had responded, grateful that she hadn't called him silly or told him to get over it. _Sometimes when things scare you there just isn't anything you can do about it, even if you know you shouldn't be scared._

Harry had also told her how he had to wear Dudley's old clothes, and how he never had enough to eat. Ginny was surprised at this. Even though her family was poor, she had never really been hungry. Slowly, piece by piece, her fantasy of Harry Potter was beginning to unravel, and the brave, horseback-riding, heroic man of her daydreams was being replaced by an awkward twelve year old of average intelligence with a horrid family, cracked glasses, and a timid manner. This Harry had a very hard life full of pain and fear, and yet he was strong. There was no more thought in her mind of riding off into the sunset, because as appealing as that fantasy had been, for some reason she found that she liked the real Harry much better than the imagined one. He talked to her and appreciated her for who she was. He listened to her little quirks and quibbles and responded with his own. She began thinking of him as her very best friend, and when Prissy Mayhew started sniffing at her in homeschool group, Ginny would just remember that _she_ was quill-friends with Harry Potter, and Prissy wouldn't be such a bother anymore.

Harry was becoming more and more interested in the mysterious redheaded sister of his best friend just as much as she was interested in him. She had never once mentioned him being famous except in that first letter, and he wasn't afraid of telling her things.

Harry wanted to know more. He wanted to know what she was like in person.

The day after Halloween Harry was having breakfast with Ron while Hermione – who had only the night before become their friend – ran off to the library. Seeing as Ron was in a good mood ("just LOOK at all this stuff!" he said, gesturing to the enormous amount of leftover Halloween goodies on the table), Harry decided it was a good time to ask about Ginny. But, not obviously, of course. He didn't want Ron to think he _liked_ her, eew!

"Ron," he said carefully, "what is your family like?"

"How d'you mean?" asked Ron.

"What are they like? Your siblings, I mean."

"Well, Bill's in Egypt. He's a curse breaker there, which is really neat job 'cause he gets to go inside tombs and dig things up and stuff. He brought home this artefact once that spat out some weird sticky liquid that was supposed to make you lose your sense of direction. He left it out on the table and I picked it up once and it spat on me, and I dropped it. Bill was pretty mad at me. Charlie's in Romania working with dragons, and he doesn't come home a lot anymore. Mum's always saying she wishes he and Bill were closer to home, but they like it where they are." Ron shrugged. "I don't reckon Charlie'd want to come back anyway after what happened last time."

"What was that?" asked Harry.

"Oh, Fred and George managed to use Mum's wand to charm his toothpaste his mouth squeaked like a rusty gate when he opened and closed it. He was really mad so he tried to get back at the twins. Unfortunately, his prank backfired 'cause he left it on a chair and since it was food, I ate it. I kept spitting out cards until we could assemble a whole deck, but we couldn't find the queen of hearts until almost half an hour later when I stood up from my chair and we found the card, because I must have sat on it. It was right on my…"

"Okay, I get the picture. But wouldn't Charlie know better than to just leave food around? He should've known you'd eat it."

"Yeah, well, he didn't, and Mum got really angry because my throat hurt really bad after the cards kept coming out and she had to take me to the hospital. Charlie was really upset and apologized, but the twins kept pranking him about it for a long time, and so I don't think he's too excited to come home, y'know?"

Harry nodded. "What about the others?"

"Oh, you know them." Ron looked at Harry suspiciously. "Why?"

"What about your sister?" Harry asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Who's asking about Ikkle Ginny?" said Fred from over his shoulder.

"The boy-who-lived asking after our little sister? What an honor, I must say!" said George.

"You don't think he could—"

"—Possibly—"

"—want to get to know her—"

"—a little better?"

"Don't worry," winked Fred. "We won't tell Mum. She'd have the wedding planned out before you knew what hit you."

"I'm just curious!" protested Harry.

"Ah, my dear boy, curiosity is a degree to obsession—"

"—which in turn is a degree to infatuation—"

"—and then to adoration—"

"—and love and devotion—"

"And we all know what happens then!" The twins guffawed and rushed off to torment someone else before Ron or Harry could retort. Harry decided never to ask the twins anything for which he wanted a serious answer. He didn't know if they were capable of giving one.

_Where do your brothers get their energy? _Harry asked in his next letter.

_Both of my parents are pretty high-strung_, she answered, _but I'm guessing the pranking instinct came from further back in line… some more distant relative. Somehow I can't picture either of them breaking rules on purpose or having everybody know them._

_Yeah, _Harry wrote, _they went crazy over Halloween. They just kept charming things and all, and people were always looking over their shoulders to see if they were coming. It was pretty funny, actually._

Ginny's reply was brief and to the point. _You have no idea the things they can get up to. I could tell you so many stories… _and then the letter ended, leaving Harry to wonder endlessly about what sorts of things could be funnier than Mrs. Norris being stuffed into a giant pumpkin in the great hall from which she could not be rescued until Filch agreed to wear a pair of bat wings for the rest of the day.

_What sorts of things? _He asked. _Have they ever done anything really horrible to you?_

_I'm not saying_, Ginny wrote back, _unless you agree to tell me one embarrassing moment or a secret that you've never told anybody else. _This was difficult, as Harry did not have many secrets he considered worth telling, but he resolved to think of one, and told her so.

_Good. Then I'll tell you this: when I was little they tried to turn my hair brown because I didn't want red anymore. They tried while I was asleep and when I woke up my hair was the most horrid shade of purple you'd ever seen, and Mum and Dad couldn't even get it to turn back, so I had to wait until it grew out. Then when I was really angry and yelled at them for it and wouldn't talk to them they said I was a stuck up little girl and ended up cutting it all off, and I had to go to my play group for three weeks with a hat or a wig because Mum didn't know how a hair regrowth potion would react to what they used and so I had to wait and when my hair finally grew back in it was darker than before and it took almost a month more for it to look the way it started. And then I got back at the twins by filling their beds with Malsin's Melodical Mixturious Marbles and they could only whistle for two days. Then they got back at me at this big family reunion when they put fake eyeballs in my soup at dinner and I screamed so loud and I jumped up and my bowl went flying and the table fell over and everybody was looking at me and there were about a hundred people there. The rest of the day I should have suspected something because they were being good, and you know the last time that was? The last time they were planning a serious prank. I should have seen it coming. Your turn._

Harry had to think for a very long time before he could write his reply. He certainly didn't have any stories like that. His life wasn't very interesting at all compared to Ginny's. A family reunion! A hundred people in your family! Harry only had three, and they weren't much of a family at all. But nobody knew why, because he never told anyone. That could be a secret.

He placed the tip of his quill on his parchment and scribbled a few lines without thinking too much about them. _My family hates me. My cousin beats me up with his friends because there's nobody to stand up for me except me. But I can't stick up for myself because then Dudley will lie about it to my uncle and my uncle will probably hit me and call me names and lock me in my cupboard. He hits me a lot, but you can't tell anybody that because…_

He stopped. He hadn't meant to write that about his uncle. That was a secret he preferred to keep secret. Who knew what Vernon would do if he found out Harry had been blabbing? He ripped up the parchment and tossed it into the common room fire. So, what could he say? Most of the secrets in his life were dark and cold and he liked to keep them locked away where nobody would ever find them. Personal information, once given out, was a liability. His secret would have to be something innocuous. He could of course tell her about an embarrassing moment, as he had plenty of those.

_Once my cousin and his friends stole my clothes while I was changing after gym class, and they told me I would only get them back if I walked through the school in my underwear during the passing period, because they were left in a bathroom at the other end of the building. That was pretty embarrassing._

Yes, he could write that. And just for good measure, he sent her a picture.

Eight years later Ginny Weasley was cleaning out her room at her parents' house and packing with her fiancée, Harry Potter. She unearthed a small box at the back of her closet and smiled widely as she opened the top to reveal a stack of old letters written in childlike handwriting.

Harry looked over her shoulder. "I didn't write very neatly, did I?

"No," said Ginny fondly, "but it wouldn't have made a difference if you had the best penmanship in the world. I wouldn't have known the difference, I don't think." She shivered as Harry blew gently on the back of her neck.

And then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his battered old wallet. "Strange how so many people died in the final battle, but my old wallet made it through." He opened it and pulled out an old photograph of a little girl with pigtails smiling and giggling at him.

"Oh goodness, you still have that?" Ginny said.

"The first photograph I'd ever been given? I would never have gotten rid of it."

He blew on her neck again and this time followed it with a quick kiss to her shoulder. Ginny shivered agan.

"Harry–" she whispered.

"Hmmm?"

"Can you do that again?"

And he did.


End file.
